


A Whole Other Nightmare

by Nitrobot



Category: Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Parents havin sex, baby!Chop Shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one time Chop Shop caught his parents in the middle of "midnight wrestling"<br/>(they're definitely not getting into WWE with those moves...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Whole Other Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Also on tumblr: http://nitrostation.tumblr.com/post/129869028607/please-write-fic-about-how-little-chop-shop

Chop Shop couldn’t remember what had jolted him awake, only remembering endless columns of razor tipped denta and glassy optics staring down at him as they swallowed him up. Whatever it was, it almost made him leak oil all over his berth. He needed a hug.

He was more terrified of the nightmare than the dark, and his four optics offered enough illumination at least to stop him colliding into walls. He scrambled for the door to his parent’s quarters, folding out one of his spider legs to reach the handle high above him. He was about to pull it down when a groan reverberated through the metal, chasing his grip away. It didn’t sound like the shadow that lurked in his dreams… but it didn’t sound friendly, either. And whatever it was, it was in with his parents. The only ones who could offer him a haven. 

He blinked and shook himself more through his shivers. They’d never let a monster get them. If anything tried getting in, his father would have sliced it apart and his mother would have thrown the pieces out the window. Chop Shop forced his leg back up before second thoughts could catch up with him.

“Uh… Mum?” he asked softly, edging the door open. “I had a bad dream, can I-?”

The groan interrupted him, much clearer this time and from his parent’s mammoth berth. And, unless she’d swallowed a live Scraplet, it was coming from Airachnid’s own open mouth. Another shape lay on top of her, too lopsided to look like his sire at first, but the crimson paint in the moonlight was unmistakable. 

Whatever was going on, it stopped instantly when their optics fell on their son and his wide optics.

“What’re you and Daddy doing…?” Chop Shop asked slowly, still adjusting his gaze to the gloom. The delay gave his parents enough time to hastily pull a blanket over them both, and Knockout seemed in a hurry to roll himself off Airachnid. 

“We’re… wrestling, sweetspark,” Airachnid explained after a cough. Somehow all of Chop Shop’s optics managed to look skeptical, and it was Knockout’s turn to bluff. 

“All parents… wrestle, son,” he said, with only slight exertion in his voice. “So we can practice for fighting Autobots.”

Chop Shop’s curiosity replaced his confusion. “I wanna wrestle as well!” he pouted.

“When you’re older, darling,” Airachnid promised in a rush, pushing herself up and brushing herself down for some reason. “Now what’s wrong?”

His two lower optics went to the floor, and his spider legs fiddled anxiously with his digits. “Nightmare…” he admitted.

Airachnid made one of her homely cooing sounds to bring his gaze back up. “Come to Mama, sweetspark,” she purred, holding her servos out and sweeping him up when he hobbled towards her. Her protoform felt warmer than usual, and her sparkrate was quick against his faceplate, but it still pulsed the same promise of safety to him. Chop Shop gladly burrowed himself in, leaving his night terrors behind while swaddled in her embrace.

“Knockout, don’t you want to comfort your baby?” his mother asked, holding the back of his helm while her other hand cupped his tiny frame. He heard his sire make a scoffing sound.

“In a klick,” Knockout said. “I have… something else to comfort first.” And then the light of the washrack switched on before being cut off by the door clicking shut. 

‘Wrestling’ was the explanation Chop Shop had accepted for over twenty years, all the way up until now. He was on his second morning ration when the memory resurfaced, murky at first, but then slowly overlaying over other situations making up a mosaic of a childhood of interruptions and a few ill-fated interface ed lessons-

Realisation smacked him like one of his legs going haywire.

“OI!” he yelled, almost knocking his seat back from how quickly he stood.

Airachnid raised an eyeridge over her own energon cube. “What’s wrong, Choppy?”

“YOU TWO WEREN’T WRESTLIN’!” he accused, pointing a digit at both of them. 

Knockout looked more annoyed than embarrassed, not even setting his cube down. “Well, _duh_.”

Chop Shop retracted his hand with a disgusted sound, abandoning his ration and looking at both of them before storming off to his room with a “THAT IS MINGIN’, MATE!” thrown over his shoulder.

“Chop Shop, for the last time, I’m not your ‘mate’!” Knockout called out, and his sigh echoed the distant slam of a door. He turned to Airachnid as she awkwardly sipped her energon. “I told you we shouldn’t have let him watch all those BBC documentaries from Earth,” he told her.


End file.
